


Dopamine Darling

by SYNdicate930



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, CEO Chae Hyungwon, Eventual Relationships, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Smut, Stripper Shin Hoseok | Wonho
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2019-11-21 07:25:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18139181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SYNdicate930/pseuds/SYNdicate930
Summary: In which young pharmaceutical CEO Hyungwon wants his friends to get off his case for being single, and stripper/bartender Wonho needs money and to pay his rent.If things weren't crazy enough, things become further complicated as feelings are thrown into the mix.





	1. Welcome to The Shoot Out

**Author's Note:**

> Songs to set the mood: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLVF9M3qHUx_XxKM3d9HfUvvfxmuUwZzUY 
> 
> ^ Songs that I think reflect Hyungwon and Wonho individually, them together, and songs I can see Wonho dancing/stripping to LMAO. This playlist is pretty chaotic tbh. 
> 
> Also, I changed I.M's birthday for the sake of the plot oops

**Friday, April 20th, 23:32**

Strip clubs make Hyungwon uneasy, to say the _very_ least.

One might be so particular to venture so far as to claim Hyungwon undergoes an irrational magnitude of discomfort, exacerbated further by alcohol intemperance, and great dearth of modesty, and restraint in both performers and their audience. Though no means a saint, Hyungwon engages in moderation exceedingly well for a man in his early twenties, even in circumstances and establishments which sanction and endorse such vices and, as his childhood priest would have called it, had the fellow survived an abrupt bursting of his appendix during the winter of 1999, “sin”. It simply is not within his nature to act or desire in excess.

The inside of Shoot Out is uncomfortable, cramped, and unbearably hot. His pristine shirt insists on adhering itself to his body, white and wrinkled, like previously balled up paper unraveled, stuck against his back like an additional layer of skin. There is a pervasive fragrance of cheap cologne blended and sweet perfume mixed with second-rate beer, and the alternating flashing neon light show, and decor produces a stinging sensation in the back of his weary eyes. His eyes water, but not enough to cause substantial discomfort. He wipes the tears from the corners of his eyes with the back of his hand while the others aren’t looking.

On stage, the DJ bops his head in time with the music. His hair is long and tied back in a ponytail, arms coated with so many tattoos, Hyungwon could have sworn he was wearing a long-sleeved shirt. The bass is unreasonably exaggerated, Hyungwon can scarcely discern the melody of DDD remixed awkwardly with the instrumental of Fantastic Baby through all the distortion and vibrating of his head and sorry eardrums. In his hand, he can almost see ripples forming in his glass of champagne as he raises it to his lips.

Half-empty, half-full, not empty, not full. Hyungwon finishes whatever is left in silence. He decides now is the time to stop drinking for the remainder of the night. Someone must ensure the others arrive home in one piece, or at least close enough to one piece. If he can get Changkyun home with at least his pants and shoes still on, Hyungwon would call that his greatest triumph yet.

To his left, Jooheon and Kihyun are enthralled by this evening’s music, Jooheon, more so than Kihyun. Jooheon, with wrists together over his head, turns his back to Hyungwon and friends, and begins hopping in place, spine curved femininely, semi-seductively, while Kihyun and Minhyuk applaud him wildly. The two jump from their seats in the booth, hollering slurred words of encouragement over the boisterous rhythm as Jooheon goes through the song’s choreography. How much of it is improvisation, Hyungwon is not certain, but the sheer confidence in Jooheon’s face tells him that doesn’t matter.

On the other side of the booth, during Jooheon’s manic performance, Hyunwoo and Changkyun sip champagne together. They tap their glasses together, clad in dark colored suits, Hyunwoo’s a rich navy and Changkyun’s black with white accents, and attempt conversation amidst the loud music. But their discussion is halted prematurely as Changkyun rises from his seat to pop open a full bottle of champagne, the resulting spray splashing against Hyungwon’s shoes and effectively dosing Hyunwoo’s left sleeve.

“Let’s party, baby.” Hollers Changkyun, who brings the bottle to his lips and begins chugging, as Hyungwon simultaneously drops his head into his heads. So much for getting home in one piece.

“Changkyun! Changkyun! Changkyun! Changkyun!” The men fist bump to the beat of the music, howling his name in misguided, yet loving, support. Some champagne drips from the corners of Changkyun’s mouth, the collar of his exorbitant shirt soaking up any residue spilling down his throat.

Unable to ingest any more alcohol, nor preserve what limited composure or balance he has left, Changkyun jerks the glass bottle away from his lips, losing his footing as he collides into the faux leather of the booth bench behind him. Changkyun releases a prolonged burp, and, to Hyungwon’s surprise, catches himself commending him, laughing fiercely into the palm of his hand. “That was fucking amazing.”

“Yo, that was so sick.” Jooheon leans over the table, extending his arm and raising his hand for a high five. “You killed it, dude.”

“Really?”

“Fuck yeah, you did.” They spoil him too much, but he’s their baby and always will be. Even when he drinks himself within an inch of blacking out. “So cool.”

Changkyun accepts the gesture with gusto, snickering drunkenly. “I may be the youngest out of the six of us, but I can out drink any of you, any day of the week. Try me.”

Hyungwon hunches into Minhyuk’s inebriated figure as their waiter (if one could call him that) arrives with a fifth bottle of champagne. Clad in no more than a pair of white, skin-tight short-shorts, and neon pink suspenders and wristbands, one on each wrist, a young man somewhere in the vicinity of twenty-five, places a bottle of champagne in the bucket of ice stationed in center of the table. His hair is crimson, slicked with sweat and sticking to the sides of his face. On his left bicep, something is written in black marker. Upon closer inspection as he moves around, it appears to be a phone number, the last digit smudged beyond comprehension.

Using his round plastic tray, the waiter collects their empty glasses, beer bottles, and garbage before hurrying away. He walks to the rhythm of the music, swaying his hips, a sprightly hop in his step. Minhyuk becomes fixated on something, and, instinctively, Hyungwon’s eyes follow but do not manage to identify the target of his attention or preoccupy themselves with anything really.

Minhyuk pops open bottle, pouring a glass-full for himself and Hyungwon, nearly spilling all over himself in the process. He offers a glass to Hyungwon, who has become very much aware of the way he eyes him intently, accusingly, “You’ve been quiet for most of the night.”

“Oh, is that so?” Through his periphery, he notices Minhyuk’s attempt at eye contact, but denies him. Instead, Hyungwon fixes his gaze on the bubbles in the glass popping and disappearing into oblivion. Hyungwon swirls the rose gold liquid slowly, comfortably but fully aware of Minhyuk’s undivided attention as the sweet scent of champagne wafts into his nostrils. “You say that as if that were out of the norm.”

“Is something on your mind?” Inquires Minhyuk. Hyungwon presses the glass to his lips, but does not sip, instead he uses it to conceal a considerable lack of enthusiasm so evident in the rest of them.

“Not really. I just don’t have much to say when we come to places like this. The music’s too loud, there’s too many people, the workers half-naked, if not _completely_ , it kind of smells like weed, all of you are plastered -”

“I am _not_ drunk.” The redness in Minhyuk’s cheeks indicates otherwise, but Hyungwon does not bother to mention it. It would not accomplish much, if anything, in the way of steering the conversation away from himself. “ _You’re_ drunk.”

“Anyway way, I’m fine. I’m just not feeling talkative right now, I guess. Everyone has those day, yourself included.”

“Something must have happened. I can see it. You’re more tense than usual - just now, you did that thing - that thing where your eyes shift from side to side. I read online people tend to do that when they’re nervous - there it is! You just did it again!”

“Did I?” Hyungwon stifles a laugh with a sip of champagne. The carbonation sends a rush up his nose, diffused quickly as he scrunches up his nose.

“Hyungwon,” Minhyuk wails, nearly dropping his glass. Bang Bang Bang begins playing, and Hyungwon watches as Jooheon and Changkyun shoot at Hyunwoo and Kihyun with finger guns. “Open up to me, will you?”

Minhyuk is far from a perceptive individual; without realizing, Minhyuk’s heavy-handed approach to sensitive matters can be taxing. He is tactless, and his ability to read the mood of a situation is equal to his inability to chill the hell out about his hatred for cucumbers. But what he so heavily lacks, Minhyuk instinctively negates via a guileless, inquisitive temperament and earnest intentions. Even though Minhyuk cannot read Hyungwon as effortlessly as the others, he very much recognizes when troubles plague him.

“I’m fine. Everything is fine. While I appreciate your concern, even if there is no real need for it presently, I am simply just not a strip club kind of guy.”

“None of us are. The only reason we’re here is because Changkyun told us he had never been to a strip club, and we wanted to surprise him. We would have never come here otherwise, and you know that, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have a good time.” After polishing off his drink with a single swig, tilting his messy head of light brown hair so far back, it strains Hyungwon’s neck to see, Minhyuk returns to gape at him. He flicks Hyungwon’s temple. Hard. The resulting recoil has Hyungwon nearly dropping his glass all together. “I’ll never understand the way your brain works or what goes on in there, but, please, just relax a little. You’re so awkward and rigid nowadays, it stresses me out sometimes. Even Hyunwoo knows how to loosen up.”

The young men turn our heads in unison to watch Hyunwoo, who does a shot off Jooheon’s stomach. Kihyun and Changkyun surround them, phones in hand with the flash on, recording every second of it. Hyungwon can only imagine what odd pictures and videos he’ll wake up to in their group chat the next morning. Minhyuk shakes his head, clarifying himself, “Okay, maybe don’t loosen up _that_ much, but you know what I mean.”

“How about this - I’ll have another glass. Maybe. But that’s it for me tonight. Someone has to make sure you guys wake up tomorrow.” Hyungwon hasn’t completed his sentence and Minhyuk has begun pouring champagne into their glasses. He laughs as Minhyuk hands him his drink, and they toast.

Their waiter comes by a second time, with another phone number written in red lipstick on his chest, and his tray now devoid of mess, only to be cluttered once more as he clears the table. He asks if there’s anything else they need, drinks, snacks, or dancers, to which both Hyungwon and Minhyuk shake their heads. He nods and continues cleaning quietly. He stacks the glass cups quickly onto his tray, and gives whatever space is available to him a swift wipe with a blue cloth.

Hyungwon admires the waiter’s ability to remain seemingly at ease despite his circumstances, half-naked and tidying after six grown men, meanwhile the strip club ostensibly slips into compounding disarray at his feet. More than likely paid insufficiently for the labor and time he has put into this establishment, though the poise at which he carries himself with states otherwise, Hyungwon applauds his good attitude. Hyungwon will remember to tip him graciously, as he is more than deserving of it after putting up with them tonight, especially Changkyun.

“Anyway, did you find a date for Kihyun’s sister’s wedding reception?” _Not this again_ , Hyungwon thinks to himself, pursing his lips into a paper-thin line.

“I’m working on it.”

“Do you have anyone in mind? If not, I hear Hyunwoo’s cousin is quite the looker. I’ll ask him for her number for you later. You’re a nice, good-looking guy; I know she’ll definitely like you.” 

“Yeah?” Hyungwon puts his glass down, wiping his clammy palms against his thighs with a dissatisfied breath.

“I think you might like her. I think he said she models?”

“I don’t really care.” The displeased expression on his face is either lost to the low-lighting, or Minhyuk’s insobriety reducing his already substandard ability to read people into extinction. Of all topics of conversation to be had, location aside, Hyungwon would rather not get into it; not here, not outside, not anywhere. “I said I’m working on it. Let’s talk about something else. Please.”

Just as the waiter is about to leave, Hyungwon sees Changkyun and Jooheon lean over the table, the birthday boy beckoning the waiter over with his middle and index fingers. Without question, the waiter leans over the table. Only god knows what they whisper into his ear, or why exactly they’re handing him a fistful of dollar bills, but, with the way they side-eye Hyungwon, he can only guess at this point. Minhyuk, of course, doesn’t notice at all. “Come on, the wedding is a few months away and, with your schedule, you should start really looking now.”

“Have you considered that maybe, just maybe, I don’t want a date?” Hyungwon isn’t mad. In fact, he cannot recall the last time he was upset with someone. It would take something unutterable, outright despicable, to enrage a soul as temperate and well-collected as Hyungwon, who, to his detriment, teeters on pure apathy, if it weren’t for his friends.

“I’m just saying, she’s a nice girl and you’re an awesome guy. I also think it would be nice if you brought a date to the wedding. Besides, meeting people, going on dates, having your heartbroken and binge-eating to numb the pain – it’s something everyone must go through at least once in their life. I can’t even remember the last time you spoke to someone socially that wasn’t one of us, let alone go on a date.”

“Again, maybe I don’t want to date anyone. Maybe I’m content with how things are now.” Changkyun, Jooheon, Kihyun, Minhyuk, and even Hyunwoo experience and view the world around them with their hearts more often than their heads, a method of approach Hyungwon cannot begin to fathom. “I don’t have time or energy to ‘meet people, have my heartbroken, or binge-eat to numb the pain’ which, by the way, sounds like a terrible time.”

“You’re right.” In Hyungwon’s periphery, the waiter sets down his tray on the table, counting the money swiftly, his eyebrows shooting up, eyes widening. An uncertain expression overtakes his initial shock, and he looks to Changkyun and Jooheon, who shake their heads. He pauses, before ultimately pocketing it. All seems in order as he nods, and Jooheon reaches to shake his hand. “But it builds character.”

“Is that why you’ve become such a weirdo?”

“Hey, that’s a low blow.”

With a shit-eating grin, Kihyun hops to his feet to slide the waiter a couple hundred dollars for good measure. Hyungwon attempts to preoccupy himself with his phone as they focus their mischievous intentions and attention on him.

 

**Friday, April 20th, 23:59**

The waiter leads Hyungwon by his frigid hand into a minute back-room in the corner of the stripclub opposite their booth, hidden down a narrow hallway where only four out of every ten lights are turned on, and past what appears to be the performers’ changeroom, staff washroom, and a janitor’s closet. It is a very awkward holding of hands, the kind where fingers don’t entangle themselves intimately, instead, the men are found cupping each other’s palm clumsily, in the premature yet sweet way children often do. Hyungwon’s long, spidery fingers, a product of having been forced into intensive piano lessons at the ripe age of five, appear effeminate and limp in contrast to the waiter’s, calloused, hot and full of vigour, yet smoothed by an unexpectedly delicate touch.

“I’m so sorry, by the way.” Hyungwon blurts out the instant the words bubble and boil in the back of his mind as a faraway thought.

Upon further inspection, nearly every aspect of his body is outshined by the waiter’s. Hyungwon’s arms are exceedingly brittle and lanky by comparison, and his shoulders, though quite broad, lack the hardy muscle of strong biceps the waiter possesses and flaunts as they move swiftly. It makes Hyungwon a smidge jealous watching the muscles in the waiter’s back and ripple and tighten as he moves. However, as Hyungwon ambles after him sheepishly, he notes what he does hold over the waiter is undoubtedly in height, though that bears hardly any significance as of now. When seated with the others, champagne in hand and bombarded by Minhyuk’s oddities, he appeared to Hyungwon much taller.

The waiter glances over his shoulder as they turn a corner, past an emergency exit and security staff. The guard shoots him a wary stare, which Hyungwon returns with a tense smile of his own. The waiter doesn’t pay the guard any attention save a curt nod before turning away in favor of speaking to Hyungwon. “You? Sorry? For what?”

“For my friends. They’re kind of... a mess. They’re the whole reason I came here in the first place. Someone needs to make sure they don’t burn this place down.”

“‘A mess’, you say? So what? If you haven’t noticed, everyone who comes here is a mess to some degree.” He has a point, but Hyungwon doesn’t comment on it, far too focused on convincing himself he is not tipsy, and his life is not in danger the further the waiter pulls him into the sketchy strip club.

“Either way, I’m sorry on their behalf.”

“You shouldn’t say you’re sorry for your friends. I mean, I anything, I should probably be thanking your friends.”

“I don’t quite follow.” Indicates Hyungwon in place of _“What on earth are you talking about?”_

“Well, let’s just say it’s been a while since I’ve seen someone as cute as you pop in, even if you are kind of stiff.” He nearly sweeps Hyungwon off his balance with how sweetly he laughs. His breath hitches in his throat, the delightful cadence renews his groggy senses like a much-needed breath of fresh air. “What’s with that look? You should try to loosen up a bit.”

“You sound just like my friends.”

“Well, maybe you should try listening to them more often. They have a point.”

The room the duo arrives to is staggeringly easy on the eyes for what one would anticipate for a strip club. A grey suede couch has been positioned directly across the room from the door, seemingly brand new, with rounded square cushions, a low back, and white piping around the edges. Unadorned walls are painted a rich cream, akin to the mild pigment of beach sand on a cloudless day, warm and inviting, with spotless mirrors at about elbow height running across all four walls. A small rounded clock hangs on the wall beside him, just above two light switches. Through the mirror, Hyungwon’s reflection is somewhat unclear and ill-defined in the dim lighting, yet the overwhelming nervousness consuming him is as painstakingly evident as their difference in height. It requires every single ounce of self-control for Hyungwon to stave off a fit of anxiety-induced trembling, uncomfortable laughter to mask and compensate for how awkward he feels and urge to run away and never look back.

Beneath Hyungwon, the soles of his dress shoes pat softly against a stainless burgundy carpet. The deep shade resembles that of cranberry juice and the blazer Kihyun wore on New Years eve, and Hyungwon realizes he quite fancies the color. It’s regal, with an earthy tone seemingly embedded with warmth, like the innermost section of a rare flower’s petal, where the hues are most saturated.

Perhaps he’ll purchase a shirt or some socks in this color when he has time next week. He can’t recall the last time he’d spent money on new clothes, perfectly content with the attire presently in his possession, and uncaring of current trends and fads.

At first glance, the ceiling is rather low, and, in place of typical ceiling tiles, Hyungwon is met with more mirrors and his reflection gaping back at him, wide-eyed, with exhausted bags beneath them. He extends an arm upward to graze his finger against the surface above him.

“Nice one. Guess who’s gotta clean the fingerprints off that.” Hyungwon’s head snaps down to look at the waiter. His previously placid expression is replaced by a mirthful chuckle, his eyes gleaming slits as he grins. “I’m joking, I’m joking - I mean, I do help out cleaning the place, but, honestly, I couldn’t care less. Cleaning comes with the job.”

Before Hyungwon can react or formulate a coherent response, he produces a vaguely jumbled noise in the back of his throat as he is tugged by the arm. One moment he is standing, admiring the room’s clean and simple design, the next he is slumped against the couch, eyes losing focus momentarily before homing in on the waiter above him. Hyungwon looks up at him, head still spinning, face suddenly aflame as the waiter tries to straddle him. He places his hands on the waiter’s bare chest and straightens his arms to keep the man at bay. He does not resist Hyungwon’s rejection.

“What’s the matter? Are you okay? Did you drink too much?”

“Yes, I’m just fine and no, I haven’t had that much to drink. Just what in the world are you doing?” Hyungwon’s face burns redder by the second.

“I’m just doing my job. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It’s just that your friends said it was fine, and they even paid me to -”

“Whatever they paid you to do, it’s fine, you can keep the money. If it wasn’t already super apparent,” With his chin, Hyungwon motions down to his navy suit and matching dress pants with a nod, clearly over-dressed, his rogue necktie a shade darker than the waiter’s hair, and shrugs timidly. “I’m not really the type of person to come to places like this. I don’t know what my friends paid you to do, and I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know, but I’m not really interested or in the mood for it. If you want, I don’t know, just take a break or something.”

“Take a break?” The waiter repeats to himself, as if the mere notion is unfeasible.

“Yeah, because that’s what I’m going to do. Besides, working here must be exhausting for you. You deserve a break.” States Hyungwon as he shuts his eyes, slouching into the sofa and inhaling deeply. “Aren’t you tired?”

“Tired or not, I can’t just take their money. That wouldn’t be right when they paid me -”

“Don’t worry about what they paid you. Please, trust me when I say that money doesn’t mean much to them. Take a breather.”

The waiter crawls off his lap hesitantly, yet the sensation of the man’s eyes lingers on Hyungwon’s body for some time. He listens to the man amble somewhere to Hyungwon’s left, into the corner across the room. His footsteps are sedated and reluctant, as if at any moment Hyungwon may berate him for an unfinished job. In addition to his growing feeling of depletion, his temples - particularly the on the right - have begun to throb with a dull, drum-like pounding, aggravated by his chronic fatigue and an abrupt thirst. He could really use a glass of water.

“So, why a strip club?” The waiter’s tone is milder than before, now with an undercurrent of thorough exhaustion. When he isn’t attempting to yell over top the music in order to communicate, Hyungwon thinks the man is rather soft-spoken and meek, the harmless look in his eyes juxtaposed by the definition in his muscles generates a well-rounded appearance, one that makes Hyungwon want to protect the waiter as much as he would like to the one be protected if so ever he found himself in trouble. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to.”

Hyungwon had not anticipated this, answering with eyes closed. “I’m sorry?”

“For someone who’s ‘not really the strip club type of guy’, what brought you to one, anyway, your friends, right?”

“Yep. My friends dragged me here for one of their birthdays. Trust me when I say they’re something else.”

“You’re telling me; I’ve never seen people buy such expensive champagne. They are aware how much a bottle of that stuff costs, right?”

“Oh, they are. That’s the whole reason they bought it. Last time I checked, they were on their sixth bottle of that stuff. Anything for the birthday boy. You know how it is.” He takes a deep breath, chest rising feebly. The room smells hygienic, of cleaning supplies. It reminds of Hyungwon of when he visits the pharmaceutical labs, crisp, sterile and faintly of lemon, but less suffocating.

A newly hired over-night cohort consisting of newly graduated university students mentored by senior staff had been put in place as of last month. Hyungwon and other upper management have very few to no qualms, their work having contributed greatly to the company. After ensuring his friends have arrived home safely, perhaps he ought to pay the lab a visit, check on the night staff in the lab to see how they are doing, possibly even thumb through some documents prepared for next week’s meeting if he has any energy left over to spare; there is no such thing as being too prepared, Hyungwon firmly believes. Leave it to him to contemplate work immediately after denying a lap dance in the back room of a strip club on a Friday night.

“So, is your girlfriend cool with you going to a place like this? Just curious.” Hyungwon opens one eye. The waiter looks at him as he stands in the corner, turning from side to side, stretching his sore body after a horrendously long night. It must not have helped he had been assigned to Hyungwon’s table.

“I don’t have one.” Hyungwon answers, shaking his head.

“Your boyfriend?” The waiter’s tone is slowed, careful. Hyungwon does not take offense to his inquiry.

“Nope, I don’t have one of those either.” Both of his eyes are open now, and they narrow on the waiter’s face. Hyungwon can’t seem to read him.  

“So, you’re single?” Asks the waiter in genuine shock, who stops his stretching to gape at Hyungwon.

“Yes. As single as they come.”

“How?”

“Excuse me?”

“From head to toe, your outfit is so obviously designer, meaning you must have money. Not to mention you don’t seem concerned at all with how big a tab you and your friends have been racking up tonight, or if I just keep the money your friends gave me to dance on you. Which, for reference, is enough to cover two month’s worth of rent for me. And on top of that, as if being young and rich weren’t enough, you’re also tall _and_ good looking. Like, too good looking. No offense, but, be real with me, have you ever gone under the knife?” Hyungwon shakes his head, so the waiter continues speedily, talking a mile a minute as he paces in an oval in his corner of the room. “So, you’re not just young, rich, tall and incredibly good looking, but you’re also _naturally_ good looking. God, some people just have it all, I guess.”

Uncertain of how respond, dumbfounded and blinking unintelligently, Hyungwon acknowledges the waiter’s tangent belatedly, feeling unexpectedly flattered. “Thank you. I think. I’m not sure what to say to that, or if I should be offended.”

“I’m neither insulting nor complimenting you, just merely stating facts as I see and know them; I can see you’re young yet loaded, and I know for a fact you’re tall and handsome.” The waiter replies plainly, his face candid as he adjusts the obnoxiously pink suspenders on his shoulders and pulls up his unbelievably tight white denim short-shorts that, Hyungwon has just realized, reads “WONHO” in bold letters on the butt. “And yet you don’t have a girlfriend or a boyfriend. Are you asexual by any chance?”

Hyungwon shakes his head, chuckling to himself as he shifts in his seat, arching his back to stretch it and then sitting up straight against the couch’s back.

“No, I’m just busy and I don’t really feel like being involved with other people at this moment.” He says, the weight of repetition heavy on his tongue. But he doesn’t mind conversing with the waiter at all, even if he just denied a lap dance from him, and they’re just strangers in the back room of a strip club on a Friday night. He, unlike Minhyuk, isn’t annoying.

“That’s fair. It’s not like you _need_ to be with someone to be happy, anyway.”

“You should tell my friends that. They won’t leave me alone about being single.”

“They’re your friends. It’s their job to look out for your happiness, even if they’re going about it the wrong way. And, besides, if someday you become less busy and find yourself interested in dating, I’m certain you’ll have no issues meeting someone. But that’s just my opinion.” Whether or not his ego has made the executive decision on behalf of his better judgement, Hyungwon arrives to the conclusion that quite he likes the blunt, honest way the waiter rambles off. The waiter glances at the clock by the door, and states, speaking through a yawn. “Looks like fifteen minutes your friends paid for is over. I should head back out, anyway, and you should make sure your friends are still alive.”

 “They better be. I don’t want to have to literally drag them out of this place. I know, it’s hard to believe, but I’m not strong enough for that.” This earns a hearty chuckle from the waiter as Hyungwon jumps to his feet, somewhat alarmed at the possible trouble his friends could have gotten themselves into in his absence. “Anyway, it was nice talking. Again, don’t worry about the money. It’s all yours.”

Fifteen minutes is not a very long, or even significant, length of time to most folks, however, when the people in question are Changkyun, Jooheon, Kihyun, Minhyuk and Hyunwoo, the severity and sheer quantity of damage, whether it be accidentally or purposefully committed, is seemingly infinite. Even Hyunwoo, a naturally calm and level-headed man, and indisputably the most mature out of the six of them, cannot be fully trusted under the influence of alcohol, and the other men, who encourage Hyunwoo to drink and perform far past his limit.

“What are you -” Before Hyungwon can step into the hallway, the waiter steps in front of him.

Smiling broadly, the man raises his hands to promptly unfasten the top three buttons of Hyungwon’s well-fitted dress shirt, his fingers successfully paralyzing him in place, heart pounding in his ears as a rush of heat surges in his cheeks to conceive a diaphanous cerise hue. The waiter also reaches to run his fingers through Hyungwon’s hair, ruffling his black locks ever so slightly, the way one would to a small puppy.

 “This is just so your friends leave you alone.” Says the waiter. “Gotta make it look like they got what they paid for. I won’t tell them if you won’t.”

“Nice thinking.”

For a brief second, their eyes meet, and the waiter’s smile widens. “It’ll be our little secret.”

 

**Saturday, April 21st, 03:13**

The birthday boy has finally stopped throwing up long enough for Hyungwon to leave his side on the sidewalk in order apologize to the strip club staff at the bar, who were shockingly unbothered by the night’s events, seemingly satisfied with their upscale patrons and the money spent on their establishment.

Ten bottles of the strip club’s most expensive champagne imported from The Netherlands and western France, dozens of smashed wine and shot glasses, a last minute VIP booth (Jooheon slid the owners an exorbitant tip for the trouble upon entry), and shot after shot of hard liquor imported from central South America, of course, was, of course, not without a hefty price to pay at  the end of the night. The sheer amount of cash Minhyuk withdrew from the bank to make it rain on the dancers alone is enough to have paid for the night’s shenanigans and cover the cost of every broken glass. Bowing one last time to the owners and staff, Hyungwon rushes out the door.

 “Are you sure? I can drive you guys home, it’s fine.” Offers Hyungwon the moment he sees Hyunwoo outside, standing under the light of a streetlight unassumingly. He watches him hoist Changkyun onto his back. “I said I would drive, so I’ll drive -”

“It’s fine. I can take it from here. I’ve decided that they’ll be sleeping over at my place tonight. The last thing I want is to take them home, leave these idiots alone and have one of them vomit in their sleep and risk choking.”

“Let me drive you guys.”

“Don’t worry about it. You’re this close to falling asleep. Besides, look at them.” He nods to the other men, who blink in and out of consciousness. “I have the weekend off, and I’m not really tired. I can stay up to watch them. Help call us a taxi and we’ll be good from here, will you?” Hyunwoo, who has sobered up noticeably, chugging water upon Hyungwon’s return to the booth, keeps a close eye on the men as Hyungwon waves down a taxi. He lifts a scrawny arm into the air.

Minhyuk, Kihyun, and Jooheon have reached a level of cooperativeness only achieved by excessive alcohol and no sleep, making them easy for Hyunwoo to manage as Hyungwon signals for a taxi-van to pull up on the sidewalk in front of him. The three men rest against Hyunwoo all the while Changkyun is knocked out cold, snoring away into the man’s shoulder. Hyungwon opens the back door of the taxi-van and leads each man one by one from Hyunwoo’s side, wrapping an arm around each person’s waist in fear they may stumble or even collapse the moment they begin to move. The taxi driver shoots Hyungwon a suspicious glance but remains silent. It looks bad, but it really is not what it looks like, Hyungwon thinks to himself.

Changkyun is the last of the men to enter the van, and undoubtedly the most difficult, taking the coordinated efforts of Hyunwoo and Hyungwon to position him in the very back of the van. In the centre, Jooheon and Kihyun lean against each other in a semi-conscious state, mumbling to each other about conspiracy theories, Minhyuk is passed out in the passenger seat reeking of liquor and the body sprays of various strippers, and Changkyun is asleep in the backseat beside Hyunwoo, who is presently strapping in his seatbelt. Hyungwon cannot imagine where any of them would be right now if Hyunwoo had not come to his senses.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Hyungwon asks, standing on the sidewalk. He glances at his friends, each one at a time, examining them one last time for the night with a strange sense of finality, as if the sun will rise and they may very well disappear.

“I’m good. I’ll take it from here. I’ll text you when we get to my place, and you better text me when you get home too, okay?”

“Of course.” Patting his blazer and pockets, he pulls out his wallet. “Here, at least let me get the taxi. It’s the least I can do.”

He closes the van door and rushes to the driver’s side before Hyunwoo can decline. Hyungwon pulls out a large bill, which the driver initially refuses, as he claims to not have any change to break it. But he insists he will not need any change; whatever money remains is for the driver to keep. The driver keys in Hyunwoo’s address into his GPS with a nervous hand as Hyungwon speaks.

“They’ll be going to apartment one-o-five on eighteenth street.”

“Excuse me, sir, are you sure you don’t want any change? This is a lot of money for an eleven minute ride.” Remarks the driver uncomfortably. He appears no older than Hyungwon, a man in his very early twenties, with rounded glasses that do not at all flatter the contours of his nose but instead accentuate it.

“It’s no problem, it’s all yours. In fact,” Hyungwon looks into the van to see Changkyun struggling to keep himself from vomiting, a hand on his mouth, as Hyunwoo rubs and squeezes his shoulders. Hyungwon pulls out a hundred dollar bill and hands it to the young driver. “Here’s a tip for any trouble they cause you tonight.”

 

**Saturday, April 21st, 03:34**

Hyungwon’s feet hurt as he waves the taxi goodbye, uncertain if his friends reciprocate the gesture or are even sober enough to do so. It doesn’t matter, though. All he cares about is that they rest and get to Hyunwoo’s safely.

Turning on his heel, rummaging through his memory of where he could have parked his car, he, taking his chances, cuts through an alley between the strip club and a neighboring love-hotel. The location of these two establishments next door to each other raises great suspicions, but Hyungwon decides it’s best not to poke his nose where it is not welcome. As he steps into the shadowy alley, he catches the sight of a man being punched in his face. The victim drops to his knees as the strip club’s neon slights flash playfully against the recoiling figure. Another man stands over top of him, shouting furiously.

“Where’s my money!?” The looming figure growls, kicking the fallen man. “Answer me!”

“I have it. I swear. I have enough for this month and last month. Just let me run in to say goodbye to my coworkers inside, and I promise, we can talk and I’ll pay you -”

“You’re always late on rent. It pisses me off. Look at yourself now, working at a strip club. How shameful. What do you think Haneun would think of you if she were still alive? Her only son degrading himself for money like this, how disgusting -” An intense rush of adrenaline takes over Hyungwon. Before the attacker can finish berating his victim, Hyungwon sprints between them, clenching his right hand into a fist and thrusting it with all the strength his slender body can muster. His blow connects with the attacker’s nose, the resulting stinging in his knuckles forces a pained yelp from his throat, and it’s almost enough to have him pause to find his equilibrium if it weren’t for the stranger lying on the alley pavement.

As the attacker trips backwards against the wall of the strip club, suddenly falling onto a pile of garbage bags piled against the emergency exit, Hyungwon pulls the victim onto his feet using his bloodied knuckle. As soon as the victim is on his feet, Hyungwon, without releasing his hand, begins running once more, leaving behind the attacker. “Follow me.”

“Is your hand okay?” The victim asks as they run.

“It’s fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m fine. Are _you_ okay?” Upon exiting the other side of the alley, where a fierce breeze has picked up, Hyungwon is able to catch the victim’s face beneath the warm hue of a streetlight. Red hair disheveled by the wind, and familiar neon pink wristbands poking from the ends of his denim jacket sleeves, the waiter smiles at him gratefully.

Blood drips from his nose, and his clothes are covered in dirt from his fall in the alley. Somehow unfazed, he giggles, revealing blood-covered teeth, which, thankfully, are still all in place. “Oh, hey, it’s you again.”

“Holy shit. Your nose. You’re bleeding a lot. Are you in a lot of pain? Do you need medical attention? How about I take you to a hospital? I parked nearby, it’ll only take a few minutes.” Hyungwon’s heart beats aggressively in his ears, the adrenaline still coursing through his system, ready to run and, if needed, fight back if they encounter the waiter’s attacker again.

“Hospital? Don’t sweat it. Just a bloody lip and nose. It could be worse, really.”

“Are you sure? Who was that anyway?”

“My landlord -”

“I have my phone on me, I can call the police.” Hyungwon has entered a frenzied panic. In all his life, he has never imagined himself being put into such a situation.

As Hyungwon pulls out his mobile, the waiter puts a hand over his, desperation coming over his beaten features. “Please, don’t. I’m okay, it’s nothing. It’s really not big deal.”

“You’re landlord _cannot_ assault you like that and expect to get away with it. I’m calling the authorities.”

“He’s also my step-father.” Hyungwon let’s the waiter press the side of his mobile, locking the phone. Though he knows better than to involve himself in the family matters of a complete stranger, his concern for the waiter’s safety does not lessen. “It’s complicated. Anyway, thanks for jumping in back there. I’m sure he’ll have a lot to say to me in the morning, but whatever. Either way, I’ll catch you later.”

The waiter begins to walk away. He spits on the pavement; his saliva is the darkest shade of crimson Hyungwon has ever seen. Hyungwon jogs after him. “Wait, where are you going?”

“Home.” The waiter answers simply, looking over his shoulder as he walks.

Hyungwon falls into step beside him, “What? After what just happened?”

“It’s almost four in the morning on a Saturday, and I just worked a six hour shift at a strip club. I need to sleep and shower. I smell like the inside of a soju bottle. But that’s just how life is when you work at a place like that, I guess.”

“No offense, but you can’t be serious.”

“I’m exhausted; I have nowhere else to go.” The waiter shrugs. “But, anyway, thanks again -”

“I live a few minutes away by car.”

“Uh, okay?”

“You can come over and stay the night, so you won’t have to go home worrying about your step-father harassing you.”

The waiter shakes his head, baffled. “I’m sorry, _what_? We don’t even know each other.”

“Then let me introduce myself. Hyungwon Chae.” They stop walking, beside a fire hydrant. Hyungwon offers his hand to the waiter.

His jeans have been manufactured to have rips at the knees, and the resulting tear in fabric has caused the man to scrape his knees against the pavement. His left knee is bruised, bleeding where the skin has become torn and weak. Hyungwon gulps, the tension in his throat loosening instantly as the waiter accepts. The two shake hands, Hyungwon’s palm freezing in the waiter’s firm grasp.

“Shin Wonho.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stayed tuned! Let me know what you think.
> 
> If y’all are triggered I’m calling him Wonho, it’s because of stuff. Trust me.


	2. A Night In Gangnam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was like 75% un-beta'd, but 100% the most difficult thing to force myself to write
> 
> please be nice lmao

**Saturday, April 21st, 04:01**

Hyungwon approaches his Gangnam home with the same exhaustion that weighed upon his fragile shoulders as he drove away at the start of the night, before the shenanigans, before the regret, before Hyungwon’s clothes became sticky with sweat and drenched in champagne. Thankfully, the liquid is a light enough color, so it certainly will not stain his attire. In particularly, his blazer - a favorite purchased years ago to wear to a gala held for Hyunwoo’s twenty-third birthday - smells of champagne, acutely piquant and sour, with hints of bitter citrus. He makes a mental note to pay a quick visit to the dry cleaners down the street later today. 

Positioned quaintly at the bottom of a slight incline, the complex stands proudly just under two dozen stories high, with a beautifully kept lawn and lush, well-groomed garden at its feet. Hyungwon has yet to become accustomed to the building’s grandiose size, like an omnipotent sentinel guarding the fauna on the front yard, stretching high above the extravagant cafes and boutiques around it, watchfully, and his claim to the highest floor. With its impressive height, sun filters through his windows with very little resistance and, in the evenings his home is varnished by the setting sun, orange and glowing, introducing a tender warmth the space is often denied of. The sight of the world below his balcony remains an overwhelming image, where passersby are at such a great distance below, they appear minuscule and inconsequential similar to ants, where the view of the world beneath him makes Hyungwon nauseous when he stares for too long, where falling at such a height guarantees death. The thought makes his head spin. 

However, he prefers the top floor, thankful to have been granted a placement with a dearth of neighbors above to badger him with stomping at all hours of the night. Coincidentally, he has had no one living below him as of this past August. After witnessing the asking price at which the penthouse below him is currently offered for online, Hyungwon greatly doubts he’ll be exchanging shallow greetings and welcoming new neighbors any time soon. 

His last neighbors had been a middle-aged couple, who both worked in the field of post-secondary education, though their positions were never clearly specified. Due to their old age, the couple bore no natural children. The only dependents residing in their home had been two dalmatians and a plump Siamese cat, who spent most of its days lazing around the vast space, completely apathetic to the combined energy of the puppies, who ran in zig-zags aimlessly throughout the living room every time Hyungwon stopped by to borrow some sugar or the odd tool here and there. 

Overall, they had been very kind and well-mannered; they kept to themselves, and left seasonal greeting cards in his mailbox. On Christmas, they would leave him small chocolates from a nearby shop and, in return, he would courier some flowers to their door. Due to unknown circumstances, they eventually moved away. It was only when his air conditioning became faulty and, taking matters into his own hands after leaving a voicemail for building maintenance requesting urgent assistance, Hyungwon had ventured down to borrow a screwdriver that he became fully aware of their absence. 

Thankfully, Minhyuk, as promptly as ever, with an iced coffee and tray of pastel cake pops, had been able to resolve the issue within the hour. How Minhyuk, with his infinite quirks and asinine hyperactivity, possessed the mental faculties to service his burned out air conditioning system surpasses Hyungwon’s prior conceptions of him. To this day, the source of his amplified cognitive ability remains a buried enigma. 

Pulling into the underground parkade, Hyungwon reaches out to tap a white access card against a rectangular detector attached to a small booth where two security guards sit as he brakes slowly before a striped bar. The guards wear dark uniforms, lined with reflective material on the front, back, and arms of their black jackets, and stultified faces. There is no discernible expression in their eyes, only a glimmer of fatigue. 

“Looks like someone’s had a long night, huh?” Says a man, appearing to Hyungwon in his mid-forties, with patchy facial hair and a mole under his left eye. It’s the same guard Hyungwon sees every weekend. Sometimes, when he’s on duty by himself, or when his partner is having a smoke break on a bench on the front lawn, he grants Hyungwon entry without the hassle of using his access card. 

“That’s definitely one way to put it.” Acknowledges Hyungwon with a groggy chuckle, sliding his access card back into his wallet. 

“I can smell the alcohol on you all the way from in here. Take it easy tonight. You may be young now, but you won't always be, so don’t push your luck. It’ll bite you in the butt when you get to my age, trust me. I used to live it up all the time back then, and now, years and years down the road, my body is not what it used to be.” In the background, a radio from inside the cramped kiosk hums with lively pop music. After a miniature light in the centre of the detector begins flashing green, the security men allow Hyungwon entry, entering a code into their computer from within to raise the yellow and black bar. “But anyway, it’s about time you get some sleep. Have a goodnight, kiddo.”

“Thanks, you too.”  Pressing softly on the gas, Hyungwon accelerates the car to a mild speed. The vehicle rolls down the ramp using its downhill momentum as he steers with tired arms, maneuvering down into the basement level parking lot. All around him are expensive, top of the line vehicles of the wealthy who reside within this building. 

Hyungwon cannot seem to focus his attention on anything more than the heaviness of his eyelids, the strange spinning of his car, and Wonho’s presence. A realization comes over Hyungwon as he reverses into his parking spot with someone  _ new  _ in the passenger seat. He breathes in this information nervously. 

Removing his keys from the ignition, Hyungwon reaches for his seat belt. To his left, Wonho, who has yet to say a word since their departure from the alley by Shoot Out, unbuckles his own. At the end of a long night, topped off with a hostile encounter with his belligerent stepfather, Hyungwon is not at all surprised Wonho has has little to say for the duration of short drive home. 

“You’ve got a really nice car, by the way. This must have costed you a pretty penny.” But, as they exit the vehicle, Hyungwon’s habitually ardent sense of apathy and lingering anxiousness appears to have become somewhat diluted by Wonho’s friendly disposition; the bombastic flare in his tone and salacious aura as he sauntered coolly through the bar now swapped in the blink of an eye with a more casual tenor and curious expression, Wonho’s carnal persona attenuated in moderation. He wonders if this turned down version of him is Wonho’s real personality, or if, perhaps, he’s made the executive decision to adjust himself to Hyungwon.

Wonho slings his bag over his shoulders and falls into step after Hyungwon, who treks over to the elevator doors behind him. With hands in his trouser pockets, Hyungwon shrugs, “Thanks. I guess you can say that. I try not to focus on the price. Instead, I really pay attention to whether or not the product itself is worth the price.” 

Wonho exhales with a whistle, brows raised. “Wow. It must be nice being rich. I wonder what it’s like not caring about how much things cost.”

There is a pause. 

Hyungwon becomes embarrassed. “Did I sound that spoiled as I think it did?” 

“No.” They share a look, and Wonho’s lips twitch before submitting to full-on laughter. The inside of his mouth is still red with blood, his lip split just slightly. Thankfully, his nose has stopped bleeding, though Hyungwon foresees some mild bruising. “Okay, just a tiny bit. But it’s not a bad thing; after all, the life you live is the life you live. I can’t fault you for being used to it - but it doesn’t mean I can’t tease you for it, rich boy.” 

Hyungwon presses his index finger on a rounded button with the number “22”. 

 

**Saturday, April 21st, 04:11**

Hyungwon is hyper aware of a foreign body about to enter his home in the form of Wonho, who stands by idly, hands tucked in his pockets, smiling innocently, if a tad daftly. With an awkward gulp, Hyungwon takes a deep breath and unlocks the front door. The two enter . 

Having no siblings and scarcely any relatives, it has been eons since someone new has visited Hyungwon’s home. The last time this occurred, it had merely been building security checking on him after a prolonged power outage amidst a disastrously rainy October. Heavy showers caused areas in Gangnam to become flooded as the menacing echo of thunder growled from a distance. Two men with stoic frowns in black, red, and grey uniforms evaluated Hyungwon’s ceiling for any fissures and leaks, going over the space twice over with wooden clipboards in hand as he stood in his pajamas, scrutinizing the staff with bed-ridden eyes. They examined every nook and cranny that could possibly give way to flooding, thankfully to no avail. Their departure was as abrupt as their arrival, and Hyungwon, who had been awoken from a deep slumber, fell asleep on the living room couch, unable to muster what little energy it would have taken to drag himself back to his bedroom. 

“Please close the door behind you, will you? I’ll grab some my first aid kit in the kitchen to tend to your wounds. You can have a seat in the living room. By all means, make yourself at home.” Hyungwon states as he hurries into the kitchen, disappearing behind a large wall. While in the kitchen, he places an order for take out over the phone and goes to rummage through his kitchen closet. Raising his voice ever so slightly, he calls out to Wonho as he pockets his cellphone. “I hope you’re hungry. I’m not much of a cook myself, but I’ve ordered some take out for you if you would like to eat with me. I’m starving, but it won’t be here for another twenty minutes. Anyway, first thing’s first; let me take a quick look at your wounds.”

Stepping out of his kitchen, he finds the door ajar and Wonho unmoved at the entrance of his home. “What’s the matter? Please, come in.”

Wonho appears uncertain of what Hyungwon means by that, but he follows his request without question, stepping sheepishly into his home. Somewhat of an imposing figure with his broad physique, yet seemingly harmless by nature, Hyungwon thinks Wonho looks like a fish out of water, a deer in headlights, as he lingers around the doorway, lips parted in a surprised ‘o’. “This is… quite the home you have. I knew people who lived in Gangnam were rich, but to actually see a place like this in person…” 

The floors are a pristine marble, alabaster with faint swirls of onyx veins, cut into perfect squares accentuated by crisp lines which shape each tile, shining wondrously beneath the track lights above. A simple man, Hyungwon’s penthouse is decorated minimally, utilizing furniture and color - or lack thereof - to great effect; monochrome furniture filling the open space, with white walls interspersed by dark-wood shelves filled with books and binders. Very little is hung on the walls, except for a rounded clock by the balcony, and miscellaneous artwork, though this does not deter from the net extravagance. Hyungwon prefers it this way, the openness seemingly conducive for his thoughts to flow more freely, more space for his latent creative potential to pour into and manifest. 

“Are you going to keep standing there? Come in.” Hyungwon invites him in, catching a mixture of confusion and total amazement flare across Wonho’s face, who inhales his surroundings with wide, astonished eyes, and then double as his focus lands on Hyungwon. Finally, as if a weight had been undone from his ankles, Wonho approaches quietly. Seeing the awkwardness in Wonho’s demeanor helps Hyungwon regain his composure.

Hyungwon motions towards a nearby couch, and Wonho complies. He makes quick work, batting no lashes when Wonho flinches as he cleans his wounds with alcohol-soaked pads. He wipes away any dried blood, bandaging his knees where he had scraped them in the alley. He is tedious and slow when examining Wonho’s bloody nose and lip, moving with light precision so as to not exacerbate his discomfort. Gratefully, Wonho’s nose shows no signs of fracture. 

“Your first aid kit is loaded as hell. It’s like you crammed a doctor’s office in there. Are you a genius or something?” 

“If you ask any of my peers, perhaps; if you were to pose the same question to my friends, I doubt they’d answer similarly. However, this is just very basic first aid. Nothing special.” He glances at Wonho’s face. Wonho, regaining his panache, winks. Hyungwon begins to package his supplies back into his white and red kit, refusing to allow Wonho the satisfaction of embarrassing him. The lack of acknowledgement does little to deter Wonho’s proliferating verve. “Give me a second, I should have an ice pack in my freezer if you’d like to hold it to the bridge of your nose. By the looks of it, it’s definitely not broken.” 

There is a brief pause. 

“So,” Seated upon the edge of the couch, Wonho adjusts his posture, cocking his head to the side. “I saw you staring at me in the private booth earlier. Did you enjoy the view?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Hyungwon presses down on the first aid kit. It locks with a staccato  _ click _ . Stubbornly, he refuses to meet Wonho’s stare out of both pride and in fear of further embarrassment. 

“Oh?  _ Sure  _ you don’t.” Wonho smirks. 

“I don’t.” 

“But I do, and I know you do, too. I’m flattered, honestly. If you liked what you saw, there’s much more for you to see. All you have to do is ask.”

With red ears and a deep breath, Hyungwon is able to stabilize his voice enough to calmly respond, “Thanks for the offer. I’ll consider it.” 

“But of course. Take as much time as you need to think about it. Anything for a pretty boy like yourself. But, jokes aside, thanks for this.” He motions to his knee and his nose. The smile Hyungwon receives is of pure gratitude. Wonho’s eyes become mirthful slits, the tired bags under his eyes growing in appearance by the second. 

“It’s no problem.” 

“It’s really nice of you.”

Wordlessly, Hyungwon walks away to store his first aid kit in his kitchen closet, and returns to the living room yawning. It’s about time they get some sleep, something Hyungwon has yet to think through. Should he offer the guest room across the hall from his, with the grandiose view of the skyline and Gangnam nightlife? Perhaps the second floor bedroom may better suit Wonho, with a flat screen television and the strongest Wifi connection? It’s been a while since anyone has slept over. He is certain the rooms are in dire need of dusting and maintenance, but his housekeeping staff have already clocked out, and he refuses to allow his first guest in months to reside in an unclean room. He could always insist Wonho sleep in his own quarters. Hyungwon does not mind slumbering on the couch. Or do they share his bed? Nonsense! The mere notion causes the room to whirl from beneath him and heat to overtake his pale face. 

Before he can organize his scattered thoughts, his phone begins to vibrate in the pocket of his blazer. At this time, who could possibly be calling him? Perhaps a drunk call from one of the guys? Jooheon likes to remind him how much he loves him whenever he drinks. Hyungwon stares at the caller ID. An unknown number. 

“Hello?” Hyungwon answers.

“Hello, I’m Namjoon from Mr. Kim’s Noodle House, here with your delivery! Can you please buzz me in?” The voice is a familiar rumbling baritone possessing a blithe cadence which betrays the deep, masculine tone.  

“Of course, one moment.” 

Several minutes pass. At his door arrives Namjoon, a tall man in his early twenties in an orange and blue t-shirt one size too small, black skinny jeans, and worn-down black Converse sneakers. Beneath a black cap, his dark hair is slicked back. 

“Late night munchies?” He grasps the delivery bag in his left arm, using his right hand to give Hyungwon his order. Namjoon is the same person who brings Hyungwon his order every single time. “You must be really hungry. You don’t normally order this much, or this late at night.” 

“I’m still a growing boy. I need to eat lots.” Is Hyungwon’s subpar attempt at banter. As he was formulating some sort of casual response, he was certain it would sound much better than it actually does as it leave his mouth. However, it seems the good natured Namjoon finds his go at chit-chat amusing. He even goes so far as to humor Hyungwon, chuckling as he nods in agreement. 

Namjoon nearly drops the last of Hyungwon’s order. Thankfully, Hyungwon catches it in time. Namjoon apologizes, and Hyungwon hands him his payment. 

“I’m so sorry about that.”

“It’s no worries, it’s late and we’re all tired. Here’s the money.” Namjoon counts they money, before reaching into his pocket for change. “All good. Keep the change as a tip.” 

“What, really?” Hyungwon nods. Namjoon’s dimples become apparent as he smiles. “Thank you so much, have a good night!”

“You too.” 

Shutting the door with a gentle kick of his foot, Hyungwon brings the food to the kitchen, laying out noodles and small side-dishes packaged into hexagonal orange containers on the marble counter. The delightful aroma of cooked meat, seasoning, sweet and sour and spicy, causes Hyungwon’s mouth to water, every inhale dragging him closer and closer to drooling all over himself. Glancing around, Hyungwon notices Wonho has yet to rise from his place on his couch. He calls Wonho, who is staring at the cracked screen of his phone. “Are you hungry?”

Wonho raises his face to look at Hyungwon. “A little bit.” 

“The take out just arrived. Please, have some. I don’t have a very big appetite, so could you give me a hand with all of this? I hate wasting, and I always forget about leftovers.” 

Wonho pockets his phone, smiling as he stands. “I mean… how can I say no to free food?” 

At the kitchen counter, Wonho hops onto a high barstool as Hyungwon pulls up a seat beside him, handing the young waiter a pair of disposable chopsticks. He thanks Hyungwon, who insists it’s his pleasure. They eat, for the majority, in total silence. Their mouths tasked with the duty of inhaling as much food as possible, conversation is blandly interspersed between the slurping of noodles and chomping on slices of chicken, beef and an exorbitant array of Hyungwon’s most loved entrees and their accompanied side dishes. 

Mr. Kim’s Noodle House has been Hyungwon’s go-to take out establishment for years, ever since they first opened up for business when he was in high school, still living with his mother and father. 

It smells of his childhood, of his mother teasing his father to stop eating so fast or else he’ll choke, of his father reminding Hyungwon that small things in life will bring him the greatest happiness; that something as simple as a good meal can remedy his worst states of mind. He hopes Wonho feels the same, wishing his mood has improved to some degree. Hyungwon goes in for another spoonful of soup. In the corner of Hyungwon’s eye, the elation on Wonho’s face is apparent as they eat, presumably starved from a long night. When Wonho grows thirsty, Hyungwon brings him a glass of water. When Wonho slurps his noodles too hard, Hyungwon brings him some napkins to dab the corners of his mouth. When Wonho smiles appreciatively, Hyungwon quickly averts his eyes. 

 

**Saturday April 21st, 4:59**

Following dinner and many ‘thank you’s, Hyungwon offers Wonho to freshen up in the restroom before bed, insisting that anything he may need to make himself feel comfortable, such as hair care, body wash, skin care, and towels, are available to him. In addition to this, Hyungwon offers Wonho something to sleep in, rummaging around for over-sized shirts and sweats in his dresser and walk-in closet. However, Wonho gently declines. 

“Thanks, but it’s okay. I like to sleep naked, anyway.” Wonho states. The image causes Hyungwon to short-circuit. Speaking in a manner more forceful than he is accustomed to, Hyungwon, a tad lightheaded, is resolute, insisting that, at the very least, he offer a pair of underwear, perhaps some boxer briefs. 

“Here, try these on.” 

“Why do you have an unopened pack of underwear lying around?”

“I bought a pair without checking the size first. By the time I realized, it was too late to return or exchange it.” He retorts simply, handing Wonho a trio of boxer briefs, the package still in perfect condition. “They’re all yours to keep. I don’t have any use for them, anyway.”

“Two-hundred-fifty-thousand won for just  _ three _ ?” Wonho points at the orange sticker on the back of the box. 

Hyungwon is unaffected by Wonho’s bewildered expression. Returning to the kitchen, he says, “If you need anything else, I’ll be in the kitchen cleaning up. Don’t be afraid to call for me. I’ve laid some towels for you on the counter by the sink, but if you need more, there are some stored in the shelving unit by the window. The bathroom is at the end of the hall, by the way.” 

Wonho washes up in far less time than Hyungwon initially anticipated. In the kitchen, he is in the middle of putting the last of the dishes away, tossing the disposable containers into the metal garbage bin without a second thought. Rather than utilize his top of the line dishwasher, Hyungwon prefers cleaning his dishes by hand, if not to ensure a thorough wash, then, to occupy his time on days particularly slow. With damp hair slicked back, coming his fingers through the soaked rouge locks, Wonho’s body is left bare except for the white towel hanging off his shoulder and the boxer briefs provided by Hyungwon, who thoroughly digests the sight whilst maintaining a great veneer of composure betrayed by a rush of heat coloring the tips of his ears pink.  

“Isn’t that what you and your friends were drinking at the club?” Hyungwon turns his attention to the array of wine and champagne displayed beside the fridge. Wonho points at the one furthest from Hyungwon. He offers a glass to Wonho, who accepts in sheer curiosity. “You guys ordered a few bottles of this stuff, so it must be good, right?”

Wonho takes a small sip. Hyungwon pours himself a glass, joining Wonho, who has pulled up a seat at the marble kitchen island. “So, what do you think?” 

Wonho’s face scrunches up. His taste buds are offended by the lackluster flavor, his nose assaulted by dreadful floral notes as he breathes its oddly acerbic aroma. “I’m a little disappointed. This stuff doesn’t taste as good as I thought it would.” 

“I don’t agree, but I don’t disagree. But a lot of life is like that, come to think of it.” Hyungwon shrugs, watching carefully as Wonho takes another sip. There are numerous flavor notes in competition with one another as opposed to complimenting each other. The derived taste becomes insipid against the palate, especially one as fastidious as Hyungwon’s. Better wine could be bought using the change between Hyungwon’s couch cushions at the liquor mart three blocks away, he thinks. 

Wonho leans his head back to consume the remaining wine in his glass with one gulp as Hyungwon takes small swigs of his own. “I had high expectations, but after finishing a glass of this stuff, it really isn’t half bad. Something about it makes me want to keep drinking,  _ but  _ I still don’t think it’s worth the price.” 

“Well, if you want more, please, have some. I’m not a big fan of this stuff myself.”

“Sure, I’ll have another glass. Why do you bother buying this wine if you don’t like it?”

“I only drink this stuff when I have guests over, otherwise I’d much rather be drinking something else.” Hyungwon, with two hands, pours Wonho another glass, and then fills his own. “But I always keep a bottle handy in case my friends visit. This is for them, really.” 

“Why are so formal?” Wonho chuckles, motioning at Hyungwon’s hands. 

“Just a habit of mine.” Answers Hyungwon as he puts the bottle down. “I find it somewhat difficult being casual with strangers.” 

“Then don’t think of me as a stranger.” Wonho raises his glass. 

“I suppose…” Hyungwon brings his glass to meet Wonho’s. They ‘clang’ against each other feebly. “How would you like me to think of you?”

Wonho pauses, before shrugging and bringing his cup to his lips. “Think of me however you’d like; whatever is easiest for you to be comfortable with me, I guess.” 

 

**Saturday April 21st, 5:42**

“Were you messing with me earlier?” 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“There’s no way you’re single.” 

“This again?” Wonho nods, leaving Hyungwon to sigh into his sixth - no, seventh - eight? - glass of wine. An unversed social drinker, with cheeks scorched from a magnitude of insobriety experienced scarcely throughout Hyungwon’s young existence, his kitchen spins in sporadic circles around him, his already declining sense of balance becoming rapidly displaced betwixt the present and his fourth glass of wine. “Yes, I am single. Very single.  _ Incredibly  _ single. But I’m fine with it; it’s never bothered me much before. The only downside of being single is how much my friends think it’s bad for me.”

Wonho tilts his head. Hyungwon finds the gesture incredibly endearing, yet amusing given Wonho’s physique starkly contrasting the innocent fragility in such a motion. “Bad for you?” Repeats the young water. “I didn’t think being single could be bad for anyone.”

“And you’re right - being single isn’t bad. Not at all. But for some inexplicable reason, my friends speak as if it’s totally  _ unfeasible  _ for me to be happy on my own.” Frustrated, Hyungwon drops his fist feebly onto the kitchen island counter. The ‘thud’ his hand creates is nearly inaudible. “I’m perfectly content with how things are now. I’m happy to be single.”

“So am I, to be honest. I’m glad you’re single, too.” 

“What?”

Wonho swallows the remainder of his beverage. The quantity of alcohol Wonho has consumed is questionable; Hyungwon stopped keeping track after the young man’s tenth glass. “If you weren’t single, I wouldn’t be able to do this.” 

Seemingly, with an impatient growl, Wonho has targeted Hyungwon, grabbing the intoxicated man by his chin to press their lips together. A surprised yelp from Hyungwon is used to Wonho’s advantage, who, with practice and great expertise, slips his tongue into his mouth, lulling his lips gently against Hyungwon’s, kissing him thoroughly. Parting momentarily, Hyungwon’s chest heaves in an attempt to catch his breath, panting for air as Wonho wraps his arms around his slender body, raising Hyungwon onto the kitchen counter with little resistance. 

Grasping Hyungwon’s face in his hands, Wonho runs his thumb over the young man’s bottom lip, all the while sliding between his thin legs. A shudder travels down his arching back as Wonho’s hand grazes the front of Hyungwon’s trousers, before resting on his inner thigh. Their lips meet a second time, and Wonho slides his tongue into Hyungwon’s mouth as he gasps, completely taken aback by the sensation, of their mouths locked together, the heat of Wonho’s chest as Hyungwon wraps his arms around his neck. His tongue moves against Hyungwon’s, mischievously coaxing the young man to do the same as a hand slithers it way under his untucked shirt, fingers clawing at the smooth skin and lithe muscle beneath. With one hand trailing upward to thumb a nipple playfully, his other falls to the belt of Hyungwon’s dark pants.

“I wouldn’t be able to do that if you weren’t single.” Answers Wonho, resting his forehead against Hyungwon’s with a satisfied expression. 

Attempting to steady his breathing, Hyungwon gulps. “Is there anything else you wouldn’t be able to do?” 

The words leave his mouth before they can be thought over once more. 

There is a pause. 

Wonho smiles.

 

**Saturday April 21st, 11:19**

A soft chill races down Hyungwon’s spine as he succumbs to a piercingly illusory wakefulness, bare, goosebumps lining his biceps and thighs, a heavy grey comforter tangled between his thighs and wrapped haphazardly around his waist. Mid-morning rays sift through the gaps of his living room drapes, carving out blurry patches of warm gold upon the marble floor. Before him, Hyungwon is met with Wonho holding a glass of water, a distinct ache in his rear as he moves. It is a stinging foreign to him, but Hyungwon knows, and so does Wonho, who smiles at him softly, body bare from the waist up, donning the boxer briefs provided by Hyungwon. They suit him well, snug in all the right places, and perfectly cupping his rear in a glorious manner, Hyungwon pries away his weary eyes as he notices himself salivating at the sight. He prays Wonho had not notice, though the self-satisfied way the man’s lips curl and stretch in a mirthful grin convinces him otherwise. 

Hyungwon is a fan of Wonho’s bedhead, messy and pushed back to reveal his forehead. In the day time, his red locks appear over-saturated, like magma as light hits it at certain angles, patches of rouge turning orange and fiery beneath the sun. Wonho extends his opened palm to him. In the centre of it, Hyungwon notices a lone Tylenol. “You drank quite a bit. I thought you might need something to help with the hangover and, uh... you know. So I got up and found these in your bathroom.”

“Thank you.”

“How’re you feeling?” 

“I feel  _ awful _ . My head is pounding, my stomach feels like it’s having a wrestling match with my other organs, and I can’t even begin to describe...” He answers truthfully, with a raspy, sickly tone from the desert-like dryness in his throat, all the moisture in his body having somehow evaporated from his being amidst an unfulfilling six hour slumber. Hyungwon carefully raises himself to a sitting position to take the Tylenol and water. Struggling upon his ascent, the pain in his rear grows severely irritated by the shifting of his body and he flinches. 

“Easy there. You might want to take it slow today. I didn’t mean to be so rough with you.” Wonho pauses. “Sorry about that.” 

“Don’t worry about it. I was asking for it.”

“Literally.” Wonho takes a seat on the couch beside him, tugging at Hyungwon’s blanket to join him between the sheets. Thoroughly humored by this answer, Hyungwon conceals his smile with the glass he takes from Wonho. He takes the pill, swallowing it easily with some water. “Come to think of it, you’re pretty kinky for someone as reserved as you are. I really did not expect you to like it so rough.”

Hyungwon shrugs feebly, placing his glass on the petite square table beside the couch. “Yeah, well, neither did I.” His knuckles graze against an orange and teal vase, coming within mere centimetres of pushing the Greek handcrafted antique he’s left there for decoration off the table and to its unjust death. Gifted to him years ago by Jooheon, who toured around the Mediterranean with his family for a couple of months for the anniversary is his mother and father, Hyungwon does his best to keep the vase on display to satisfy him, to show his appreciation not just for the expensive piece of art, but for the thought and consideration. “I’m just full of surprises nowadays.” 

“It’s cute.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And super hot.”

“You don’t say?” Hyungwon’s tone is sarcastic, and a tad out of breath, the way Wonho’s expression shifts and his eyes narrow on him releasing the cage of butterflies in the pit of his stomach. The inside of mouth goes dry, and Hyungwon begins to regret finishing his glass of water. 

“It makes me wonder what other surprises you have up your sleeve.” Wonho leans in for a kiss. Reflexively, Hyungwon’s eyes snap shut. They open as lips press against his forehead, the heat of Wonho’s torso defrosting Hyungwon’s frigid body as he leans in closely. “You should really show me some time soon.”

_ Time _ . 

Hyungwon becomes painfully aware of the hands of his clock on the wall in his periphery, panic proliferating in the pit of his stomach where there were once butterflies. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I have to go. I’m going to be late for a meeting. I completely forgot. I have to go.” 

“No worries. I’ve probably overstayed my visit anyway.” Hyungwon stares at him, prompting Wonho to continue. “There’s no reason for me to stick around. I’ll throw on my clothes and go home.”  

“Wait, go home? You’re seriously going back to your apartment?” Wonho nods. Hyungwon shakes his head. “Even after last night?”

“Well, yeah. Where else am I supposed to go on a Saturday?” 

His answer precedes his better judgement. “If you want, you can hang stay here for the day.”

“I’m sorry?”

“After last night, what if your landlord tries to retaliate?” Hyungwon makes a note to avoid the use of ‘step father’. The family matters of strangers are as messy to Hyungwon as a college frat house, or, alternatively, Minhyuk’s bedroom any given day of the week. The topic of family, more often than not, Hyungwon finds requires constant tip-toeing in order to hold a steady conversation, while also not outright insulting the other person, or unintentionally slandering their relatives. Akin to a loaded and heavily armed minefield, one poorly timed step or well-intended move in the wrong direction can produce an unholy quantity of damage to both parties. “I’m just saying if you need a safe place today, you’re more than welcome to say here.”

“That’d be awesome of you to let me hang around. Thanks.”

“Of course. Make yourself at home.”

“How do you know I won’t trash the place, steal your belongings and pawn them off for some extra cash, rich boy?” 

“Intuition, perhaps? You don’t strike me as someone to do such a thing. If you really wanted to, you would’ve by now. Anyway, I’ll be back later. Oh, and, before I forget…” Hyungwon slowly gets up to go to his bedroom. Around his shoulders, he has his blanket wrapped around himself. It drags on the floor, trailing behind him languidly. Wonho offers him assistance, but finds himself denied straight away, Hyungwon’s pride unable to cope with the notion of aid over something as simplistic as walking in his own home. He rummages around, returning promptly, now with his blanket pulled over his head like a hood, the rest wrapped around his body like a cocoon. He thrusts a hand from between the sheets, handing Wonho a few hundred dollar bills. 

“Is this for last night? I’m a dancer, not a prostitute.” Wonho does not appear offended, merely perplexed. 

“I know you’re not. This is just in case you get hungry. I don’t have a lot of stuff in my fridge as of right now, so I thought you could use the money for take-out.”

“Seriously? That’s really nice of you, but two-hundred-thousand won just for take-out - isn’t that too much?” 

“Don’t worry about it. It’s on me.” Hyungwon leaves the money on the coffee table before turning on his heel. 

 

**Saturday April 21st, 17:08**

The otherwise dense line vehemently segregating Hyungwon’s monotonous daily routine from the absurdity of superfluous fiction, witnessed often through vapid television dramas and god-awful young adult novels, though secured by his pragmatic disposition, softens as the distinction grows blurred at the sight of Wonho asleep on the couch. To think last night’s events and all that has lead up to this moment were not a figment of his imagination - it’s inconceivable. It was one thing for Hyungwon to invite Wonho over, but another thing to allow him to spend the day in his home while at work. Though, there had been no choice - Hyungwon would not be able to function normally throughout his day and in meetings with the knowledge of Wonho returning to an unsafe home, to the physical threat of is step father. 

This is precisely why Hyungwon steers clear of others; he becomes overly-concerned with the well-being of those around him, and works against his better judgement to help them, sometimes to his own detriment. 

In any other circumstance, the notion of a total stranger stepping foot in his home would have been preposterous, laughable. 

But here he is. 

There  _ he  _ is. 

“Hey.” Wonho, half-naked, hair disheveled and fluffy, is lying on his back when he opens his eyes. 

“Hey.” Hyungwon greets back, placing his briefcase on the coffee table behind him. The leather casing brushes against the money he left for Wonho this morning, and he raises a curious brow. 

“What time is it?” Wonho sits up, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand as he yawns. 

“A quarter past five.” 

“Already? Man, time sure flies by.” 

The money on the coffee table is all the answer Hyungwon needs, though he still finds himself asking, “Have you eaten anything yet?” To which Wonho shakes his head. Negative. “Would you like to grab something to eat with me?” 

“Right now?” 

“Why not?” Wonho rolls off the couch. Hyungwon takes a step away to make room for the young man as he stretches, arching his back and rolling his stiff neck from shoulder to shoulder languidly, a wave of staccato-like cracks from his spine ricochet off the cold tile floors. The noise grates Hyungwon’s ears, who cringes in discomfort. “I’ll grab your clothes, and we can head out. Where did you leave them, the bathroom?” 

Upon exiting the living room to retrieve Wonho’s clothes, he enters the bathroom, and immediately notices dried blood stains the sleeves of his clothes, with dirt spoiling his jeans where he had taken a fall in the alleyway. Hyungwon refuses to allow Wonho to dress himself in these clothes in their current state. Instead, he grabs them and places them carefully in a plastic bag. 

“Hey, are those my clothes in the bag?” Inquires Wonho, pointing at the bag in Hyungwon’s hand as he returns from the bathroom.

“Yes, and they’re covered in blood and dirt. However, I brought you some of my clothes to wear for now.” Answers Hyungwon, motioning to the garments draped over his forearm. 

Hyungwon is unfazed by Wonho’s hearty laughter. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m much bigger than you, even if you are taller than me. Not to mention all of your clothes must be tailored to fit you.” 

“Most are, yes, though I found some sweats and old t-shirts lying around that you can throw on. They’re are a little loose on me, so I thought maybe they would fit you.” He saunters over to Wonho, and hands him the articles of clothing in question. Wonho appears doubtful, eyeing the garments with great skepticism shattered only by the stunned expression that crosses his face, his mouth dropping. “Is something the matter?”

“Gucci sweatpants, t-shirt, and hoodie?” 

“Not a fan of these brands? I’m sorry, but these are all I have that might be big enough for you.” 

“No, it’s fine, I just… how much did all of this cost?” Before Hyungwon has the opportunity to mull this over, Wonho shakes his head in realization as he pulls on a black t-shirt. “Actually, on second thought, it’s probably better if I don’t know.” 

 

**Saturday April 21st, 17:49**

“You really didn’t have to get my clothes dry cleaned.”

“It’s no problem.” 

“You are fully aware that the cost of dry cleaning in Gangnam is probably worth more than the clothes themselves, right?” 

“If it makes you feel better, I was planning on having my clothes from last night dry cleaned, anyway.”

“That doesn’t explain why you dropped my clothes off with yours.”

“I just thought it would be a shame not to while we were there. Don’t worry about it too much.” Hyungwon’s response from across the petite round table is nearly drowned out by the surrounding rumbling of restaurant chatter, and hectic scurrying of busy men and women, the waiters in their pristinely ironed suits and waitresses with their hair knotted tightly in buns rush past with platters of dedicant food and drink, mechanical smiles plastered on their faces hinting at an exhaustion otherwise thoroughly obscured if not for the glum, fatigued bags beneath their eyes. Atop the table, the elfish flame of the red candle flickers delicately with every hastened movement of staff speeding past. Hyungwon watches with mild fascination as the flame abruptly rises, nearly incinerating the petal of a flower in the diamond encrusted vase to its left, only to wither into its initially diminutive state, swaying playfully at the slightest breeze. “Have you decided on anything to eat yet? I highly recommend their truffle risotto with chicken. The foie gras is also a good choice; my friends really like it, but I wouldn’t say it’s the best they have to offer here. But that’s just me. Are you alright?” 

“Yes, I’m fine. I just didn’t think food could be so pricey.” Wonho answers in a daze. 

“Like you said, it is Gangnam.” 

“And you’re certain you want to buy me dinner?” 

“Of course. It’s my treat.” 

“First you invite me over to stay the night, let me stay over during the day while you go to work, give me two thousand won for take out, wear your designer clothes while you leave mine at the dry cleaners, and now you’re saying you want to buy me dinner at some upscale restaurant - I can’t help but wonder… Why?” Hyungwon repositions his stare from his opened menu, feeling deeply conflicted on whether he should betray his hankering for this evening’s spicy seafood special for something more filling like pasta, to Wonho, a defensiveness in his gaze magnified by the way he eyes Hyungwon through his red hair brushed over his forehead. His voice is lowered, taking on a less cordial tone Hyungwon can only classify as the cross section of utter disbelief and pronounced suspicion. Hyungwon pauses to ponder the suddenness and depth of Wonho’s words. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to word it like that. All I mean to say is that I’m always a bit weary of other people’s generosity. And you’ve been more than generous to me. I just don’t understand why you’ve done everything you have so far.” 

Truthfully, Hyungwon is not certain himself. His daily interactions are meticulously cataloged as one of two things: droll banter between close friends, or white-collar discourse among staff, investors, and miscellaneous business colleagues; exchanges which fall into neither category are irrelevant deviations, such as answering the barista at his favorite coffee shop when asked how his day is going, and other trivial pleasantries he pays little mind to. In its own isolated, self-contained pigeonhole is Wonho. “I don’t understand either, to be honest.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“To tell you the truth, I’m in a mood, I guess.” Hyungwon finishes with a small shrug. 

“So you just help people out like this on the regular?” 

“I am capable of doing helpful things, yes. But like this, no. Never, actually.” Customarily donating to organizations and causes which he holds a particular fondness for, is a regular occurrence Hyungwon is familiar with. On a very large scale, he is accustomed acting upon the inherent sense of generosity that flows through him. He writes cheques with the greatest of intentions. However, this is the first time he’s done something so direct for a complete stranger. “Consider yourself lucky.” 

He doesn’t press any further. Hyungwon’s words apparently strike an uplifting chord in Wonho, humoring him, who chuckles, closing his menu and placing it on the table before him. “I am quite lucky, aren’t I? It’s not often I get to feel pampered like this, let alone feel pampered by someone as good looking as you. To think someone with your standing has managed to stay single for so long. I’m baffled.” 

Hyungwon raises his menu, causing Wonho’s smile to double tenfold. The last thing he needs is to think about his love life and the unpleasant predicament that puts him in with his overly-involved friends and misguided concern for him. “You know, I’d really rather not talk about this again.” 

“All I’m saying is guys who look like you can get  _ any  _ girl they want - or guy, I don’t judge. Especially after last night.” Wonho states, a blush creeping up Hyungwon’s cheeks to tint his ears. “Being rich is just a bonus to win over anyone who isn’t totally blown away by how hot you are.” 

“Do you know what you’re ordering yet?” Is Hyungwon’s subpar attempt at steering the conversation away from himself.  

“I’m just saying if you want to go for a second round after dinner, I wouldn’t be opposed to it.” Hyungwon pokes his head up from his menu and becomes instantly flustered at the lewd manner in which Wonho licks his lips, biting his lower lip before raising his glass of water for a sip to conceal the inappropriate action. It’s amazing how easily Wonho can dismantle Hyungwon, as if it were no more than child’s play. “Judging by how red your face is, something tells me you wouldn’t be so opposed to it either.”

“You’re way too comfortable talking about…” Hyungwon lowers his voice in embarrassment. 

“Sex?” 

Why must he say it so proudly? His shoulders sag in defeat. “Yes, that.” 

“More like you’re too  _ uncomfortable  _ talking about sex.”

“Maybe. It’s certainly not one my favorite topics for conversation, especially at the dinner table.” Wonho’s smile becomes thin and crooked in his attempt to quell a bout of laughter. “Everything alright?” 

“Say it.” 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“Sex. Say it.”

“What?”

“Say it.” 

“No. At least not here.” His voice is low, embarrassed.

“Come on, it’s just a word.”

“No.”

“One word. S - e - x.” 

The sigh that leaves Hyungwon’s lips is as heavy as it is audible. “Okay, fine. Sex.” 

“Sorry, you’re going to have to speak up.” The amusement in Wonho’s voice is evident. 

“Sex.” 

“I can’t hear you. What are you uncomfortable talking about?” 

“Sex.” Hyungwon raises his voice slightly. 

“There it is.” 

”I’m uncomfortable talking about sex.” 

“Hello there, my name is Momo, and I’ll be your server this evening. Can I get both of you started with some drinks?” A cheerful Japanese woman inquires, a black pen and notepad in frail hands. 

If Hyungwon could sink further into his seat, he would.


End file.
